Posts Tagged ‘mixed drink’

The Bad Bartender Chronicles

February 26, 2012

A lot of male bartenders think they are really cool because they work behind the bar. Let’s be honest bartender gigs are hard to come by, especially for men, so any person who has achieved that position should be proud. However, there is a line that is not to be crossed and unfortunately the prestige of pouring drinks gets the better of a lot of guys. These self-entitled fraudulent drink peddlers make the customer feel as if getting served by them should be viewed as an honor no matter how shitty or rude the service is.

I walk up to a bar and the bartender greets me with attitude and a sneer. While I order he looks past me to check out a waitress who is walking by. I order a vodka tonic but instead of hustling to mix my drink he casually walks over to the waitress he was just checking out. He says something that is in his mind witty and gets a courtesy laugh out of the girl who knows if she doesn’t play along her drink tickets will be ignored all night. He then walks over to the ice well and slowly pulls out a glass. A friend of his walks up to the bar and stands next to me. They slap each other five, bang knuckles and then act as if their hands have just exploded. There is an exchange of bros and then he goes and pours this person a beer.

As he hands the beer off they discuss whether or not the waitress is a slut. I can feel myself becoming dumber by listening to these two talk, as if stupidity were an air born disease. He scoops some ice out of the well and without taking his eyes off his buddy goes to put the ice in my drink. Half goes in the glass, the other half spills on the bar. He doesn’t seem to notice.

I hear the printer behind the bar print out a server ticket and watch as he tells his friend to hold on a minute. He then rushes to grab the ticket. Once he does he sets two glasses next to mine. He fills them carefully with ice and then proceeds to pour nice, stiff drinks. He rushes off to put them in the server window. When he returns he picks up his conversation with his buddy. He finally fixes my drink which consists of four ice cubes, half a shot of vodka and a whole lot of tonic. He slams it in front of me and says five dollars.

At first I’m not even sure if the drink is for me because he hasn’t looked at me or paused his conversation. I stare at him and wait for confirmation that we are actually involved in some sort of transaction. A minute passes before he finally looks down at me.

“What bro? I said five dollars.”

I slide him a twenty. He holds it in his hand as his buddy and him now discuss the latest UFC fight. Five minutes pass. Finally, I interrupt and ask for my change. Both of them stare at me with looks of disgust. The bartender scoffs and slowly walks over to the register. He hands me a ten and a five and resumes the conversation with his buddy. To me that means he is either expecting me to not tip or tip him five dollars. Neither of these is a realistic option. I know this arrogant schmuck deserves to be stiffed but not tipping isn’t in my physical makeup. I interrupt his buddy and his meeting of the minds again and ask for change for a five. I receive another scoff and after another minute of conversation he finally obliges. I leave a dollar and curse my tip karma obsession as I realize my tipping this waste of human flesh is simply reinforcing that bartenders can be as shitty or rude as they want and still receive a tip.

However, that dollar is the last one he will get from me as I would rather drink a warm forty of Olde English with a homeless toothless crack head on a street corner than ever stepping foot in that guy’s bar again. This self-entitled dickbag is one of many like him out there so beware. I urge you to be on the lookout for this sort of behavior and when you see it simply leave the establishment you are at and never go back.

I’m Not Your Brother

September 22, 2011

My name is not “Bro”. I assure you that my mother did not pop me out, take one loving look into my eyes and decide I looked like a “Bro”.  There is an idiot at my bar wearing a flat brimmed baseball cap with the team logo of a team this idiot has never heard of with tats covering his arms and a fat white watch he found in the back of some knock off van screaming repeatedly at the top of his idiot lungs, “Hey Bro”. I see you sitting at my bar watching this idiot wondering if I am “Bro” or if his buddy is “Bro” or if he has an extended network of brothers that don’t seem to respond to being called “Bro”. Don’t be mistaken, he is most certainly talking to me. However, I assure you “Bro” is not something you as a polite well-mannered bar patron should ever call me. I know, it’s hard to believe “Bro” is not my name when this idiot uses it like he’s an old buddy of mine who just happened to stroll into my bar and can’t wait to call me over to chat me up. That’s not the case, because if it was he would be saying “Hey Jon” and he definitely wouldn’t be repeatedly yelling this at the top of his lungs. I get it. This idiot is at a bar acting as if it’s his first time and wants a drink as fast as humanly possible because the faster he can get the first one and not tip the sooner he can chug it and order another one and not tip. There is a pecking order when it comes to who a bartender will serve and in what order. Yelling “Hey Bro”, “Bartender”, “Hey Sweety”,  “Yo Dude”, “Barkeep” or “Garcon” repeatedly and at the top of your lungs assures you that you will permanently remain at the bottom of that pecking order. This idiot could walk up to an empty bar and if he attempts to call me to attention in such an abrupt or rude manner he will wait for his drink. Believe me, my hustling to serve that idiot a Bud Light with a shot of Jager for no tip is not my number one priority. The couple that walked up after the screaming idiot with a smile and a simple “Hello” is already paid and walking away, drinks in their hands before the idiot even realizes he got skipped because he were so damn busy yelling “Hey Bro”. My tip for you is to avoid people like the one I’ve described above at all costs. Leave the likes of them to me and the large man who stands on the door and keeps all of us drunks safe and happy as we laugh at the fool who can’t figure out why him and his “broes” glasses are empty.


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